Wounds of the World
by SixPerfections
Summary: Being "reborn" in the world of Remnant has been anything but a dream come true. With limited memories of a show she once loved, Davi now does whatever it takes to survive and thrive. However she would be foolish to underestimate the hidden wonders in this new world, and the power of a simple soul. SI story.
1. Chapter 1 - The Champion

A/N: Because plot bunnies will not leave me alone. Enjoy.

000

It might be surprising for some people to hear, but watching Pyrrha Nikos train was dreadfully boring. She was incredibly skilled, sure. In a competition as cutthroat as the yearly Mistral Regional Tournament you didn't get to be a champion – even in the junior divisions – without both being fabulously naturally gifted and dumping an obsessive number of hours into honing that gift to a dangerous razor's edge. However that didn't change the fact that overwhelming majority of Pyrrha Nikos' martial training boiled down to improving her fitness and long tedious hours of ingraining increasingly complex maneuvers into muscle memory. The fact that it obviously worked since she had won the yearly MRT tournament three years in a row didn't change the fact that after the first hour it became incredibly dull to watch.

Still, spying on her training was necessary. I'd taken to watching Pyrrha train as often as I could, especially as this year's MRT was quickly approaching. Why was I spying on her, one might ask? The reason was simple – simply, it was to make sure Pyrrha didn't become champion four years in a row. That was my "mission" right now, and it could not afford to fail. Pyrrha Nikos winning the MRT for a fourth time had become an unacceptable outcome. The... _fun_ and somewhat faded memories I had of watching another "Pyrrha Nikos" in another life maybe made things a little harder, but... worrying about a stranger's feelings wasn't the sort of luxury a person like me could afford. That had been made abundantly clear early on. Remnant, I'd found, was a far less cheerful and tolerant place than the web-show _RWBY_ had led me to believe.

The gym that Pyrrha trained in was the most famous one in Mistral outside of Heaven Academy, the Mistral Gymnasium, an absolutely gigantic building that reminded me in many ways of an aircraft hangar. It was divided into many subsections of different sizes and containing different equipment, and Nikos's sponsors had been quite generous in renting out a sizable space for her exclusive use. However whoever had designed the building probably didn't put in too much thought into securing the place from snoopers and spies. The rafters of the building were full of seldom used maintenance platforms, battens and fly systems for lighting, all of them secured with little more than a padlock on a metal gate. Getting in undetected had been, quite frankly, trivial at that point.

No matter how boring it was, I continued to intently watch Pyrrha as she went through the same maneuver with her shield and spear _yet again_ , her coach spewing out a constant stream of minute corrections and encouragements. Memorizing _everything_ was important, as it might provide the critical edge needed to bring her down. I sat with my legs crossed on a metal walkway high up in the ceiling, concealed in shadow, and resisted the urge to sigh as I lost yet another afternoon in this _boring_ – but very necessary – endeavor.

That's when I felt it – vibrations on the metal walkway I was sitting on. A moment later, the sound of footsteps, the rustling of cloth, the crinkling of something that sounded like plastic. I narrowed my eyes. It sounded like someone was coming up here – no one was supposed to come up here. Could it be someone with the same intentions that I had? The smart thing was probably to hide, but... I wouldn't have been opposed to a confrontation either. Before I could decide on what to do the person in question came into view.

My gaze became cold and distant as I noticed who had turned a corner into sight. It was a security guard. He was a broad man who looked somewhere in his late twenties, looking down as he walked while pulling a pack of smokes out of his pocket. Funny, I knew for a fact that no security was supposed to come up here, ever. Apparently this joker was going to catch me where I wasn't supposed to be because he'd wanted to sneak off somewhere to have a smoke.

Inconvenient. By no means insurmountable, but _inconvenient_.

The security guard was so busy trying to light up a cigarette that he didn't notice me until he was just three or four steps away. He stopped when he saw me, eyes widening and taking an involuntary step back, cigarette almost falling from his lips. I just stared at him, eyes so brown they were almost black regarding him with a blank look as I waited to see if I would need to handle this with words or violence.

"Uh, hey," he said after he regained his wits, fear briefly passing through his face. He wasn't supposed to be up here either after all. "Um. Hey, listen girl. I was just doing my rounds. You can't be up here, you know."

 _Liar._

I said nothing, just stared at him. It seemed to unnerve him. He licked his lips nervously, eyes roaming over my body. How utterly... _unimpressive._

"Listen, you can't be up here. Are you a member? If so I'm going to need to see ID and your membership card," the man said, pulling himself up straighter and visibly trying to draw up an air of authority around himself. _Please. You're basically just a thug in a fancy uniform._

"Really?" I said in a dull monotone, deliberately bringing up one of my hands to casually cup my chin. "I do not have either of those things, I'm afraid."

I saw him hesitate briefly at hearing my accent. That always tended to happen. I didn't really speak like anyone else around here.

"You mean you don't have them with you, or...?" his question trailed off as his eyes landed on my hand cupping my chin. Or, more specifically, on the unnaturally thick and pointed nails that adorned my hand.

Unnatural for a human, anyway.

He didn't call me an _animal_ or _beast_ or anything, which was nice I suppose. However his eyes did narrow after seeing the black-grey claws on my hand, his posture turning from authoritative to aggressive as his brain realized I wasn't quite what he'd thought I was. His expression transformed from slightly uncomfortable to one that made it clear he found my presence about the same level of appealing as dog shit found on the bottom of his shoes. Slowly but purposefully the security reached down and withdrew the standard police issue night stick he'd had tied around his waist.

"You're trespassing, vagrant," he said, spitting the last word out like a curse. "Come peacefully and I'll lock you up until the police get here. Try anything funny and I'll beat you black and blue out of self defense, and I'll even make sure that the cops have enough to make that charge stick, too." He took an aggressive step forward, attempting to use his size to intimidate me, waving the night stick threateningly in my general direction.

"Well, what's it going to be, freak?" he demanded.

One corner of my lips quirked upwards at his words.

Then I _moved._

I was up from a sitting position and attacking him before he could blink. To his credit, the guard must have had some kind of training because he managed to bring up his night stick to put it between him and me. I tightened the muscles of my forearm and flared my Aura.

 _Snikt!_

The thick, pointed nails on my hand grew from half an inch to three inches of razor sharp keratin covered in Aura. With a swipe of my hand I took out his weapon, my claws cutting through the non-Aura enhanced material of his night stick like a scythe through play dough. It fell to pieces, and I relished the frightened look on the guard's eyes before I threw my other fist forward. It crashed into his face, breaking his nose with a very satisfying _crunch._

The security guard collapsed with a yell, clutching his face as blood streamed out. I capitalized on my advantage and kicked out, striking him on the head. He moved at the last second however and my foot only clipped him, sending him spinning and eliciting a pitifully frightened shout. I took a step forwards and then kicked him in the head again. Then again. Then again. Finally I managed to render him completely unconscious.

I looked down at the security guard, blood streaming from various places on his head, and only felt a vague sense of disappointment that this racist asshole had gone down so easily. Hopefully I'd given him a bad concussion. A bad concussion would mean he wouldn't remember my face, something I couldn't exactly afford unless I wanted my future visits to Mystral Gymnasium to get a good deal more complicated. Unlike my last world, people on Remnant tended to heal from anything short of death and dismemberment... eventually. The idiot at my feet would most likely be fine. Probably.

Now it was time to decide where to dump him. I began moving to pick him up when something stopped me. It wasn't the presence of something that drew my attention, but rather the _absence_ of something.

The sound of training below me had stopped.

Even though it went through my mind that it was probably a terrible idea to do so, I still stepped up to the edge of the catwalk and looked down.

Sure enough there was Pyrrha Nikos, with a seriously unhappy look on her face, looking up straight at me. The rafters were dark enough to hide in but in this position Pyrrha and I could see each other clearly enough. Our eyes met, hers filled with righteous fury, mine quickly filling back up with a protective barrier of cool indifference.

"What did that man ever do to you?" she demanded hotly, pointing towards the crumpled wreck lying still at my feet.

I briefly looked down at the unmoving racist prick of a security guard before bringing my gaze back up to meet Pyrrha's furious emerald eyes. For some reason I answered her with the truth.

"He got in my way."

The way she tensed up at that, the way her hands tightened around her shield and weapon and the way she shifted her stance as if preparing to run or jump told me that it was definitely time to go.

Jumping onto a beam behind me I knew that my silhouette would practically melt into the shadows. I began to head back, the memory of angry green eyes staying with me all the way back to the Kuchinashi slums.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Crime Boss

There were regular airship rides between Mistral and Kuchinashi at all times of the day and night. That might seem strange at first until you began to realize the purpose of such transportation. The city of Mistral was where all of the powerful and affluent in the kingdom of Mistral lived, and whether they felt like hiring muscle of questionable moral boundaries, slumming it up with the "urban" folk, finding new and exciting ways to get high, or simply engaging in any kind of vice from pit fights to seedy gambling dens to prostitution, then Kuchinashi was just a short airship ride away. And no matter where you went or what world you were in there was no better time for doing things you'd rather keep hidden than the middle of the night.

Of course, while it was alright for the citizens of Mistral to visit Kuchinashi, the inverse was actively discouraged. One of the ways in which this was done was by making the cost of an airship ride across the cities expensive enough to only be a slight bother to the average Mistral tourist, yet expensive enough to keep the majority of the Kuchinashi riffraff from ever soiling fair Mistral with their crude and low class presence. It was certainly true that I personally could never have dreamed of affording the cost of the airship tickets, especially with how often I had been traveling back and forth between the two cities.

So instead I'd taken to stowing away every time I wanted to take the trip. Was it illegal? Sure. Did I care? Not in the least. I had long been guilty of far more serious crimes than that, after all.

As all the legitimate passengers were disembarking the airship, I took the opportunity to sneak past the crew with no one being the wiser. The airship terminal was actually very clean, modern and well maintained, but that was all for the sake of the "tourists" that regularly passed through that point of entry. Completely unlike what I vaguely remembered in my first life, the docks were actually the nicest and most affluent part of Kuchinashi, with things quickly deteriorating once you got more than a two or three blocks away from the relative safety of the so-called "Lotus District." While many of the services your casual tourist came looking for could be found there, if you wanted some of the more extreme services Kuchinashi had to offer, then you had to venture further into the rotting belly of the city.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked, quickly scanning my surroundings. Many of the businesses in the Lotus District were closed as the sun was still a few hours away from setting. A few restaurants and a quite pretty brothel were already open and doing light business however. A somewhat lost looking tourist I came across looked like he was going to approach me, but one cold glare had him reconsidering and scurrying away. Though it was still light out the sky was overcast with grey clouds, and there was a heavy smell of moisture in the air that told me it would probably be raining soon.

As I walked past a closed smoke shop that sold many items of questionable legality, I caught a glimpse of myself on their front store window. I slowed down to get a better look at myself, my mind momentarily going back to memories of the past. I'd looked nothing like what I looked like now in my last body, in my last life. The person now looking back at me from the window looked like an Indian woman from my last world, dark of skin with a sharp angled face and almost European features. My hair was black, cut short and practical, with nothing in the way of adornments. I was a bit taller than the average woman, thin and with very lean, defined muscles. Everything about me was dark. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin, dark claws, dark areola. Even my clothes were black, black pants and a black sleeveless shirt that were well taken care of but had definite signs of wear and use. Some would say that even my speech and personality were as black and dark as the rest of me. I wasn't sure about that, but I'd never felt particularly inclined to dispute the notion either.

At least looking at myself in the mirror was no longer a jarring experience. I'd had almost ten years to get used to my now seventeen year old body. I no longer looked at myself and wondered why I didn't still have auburn hair and freckles. My new name, my new body, this was me now. And it was better that way, really.

Kira Schaffhauser was dead. She wouldn't have survived here anyway.

Dhumavati Grimmborn was resourceful. She was a survivor. And she had to take care of herself, because nobody else ever would.

 _Thus,_ I thought to myself as I walked away, _this whole irritating mess with Pyrrha Nikos._

Not that I had much right to complain. It had all been my idea, after all.

As minutes passed and I headed to my upcoming meeting the scenery around me began to change, and the true face of Kuchinashi gradually began to appear. Buildings became noticeably older and more dilapidated, most often made of wood as opposed to any other more durable material. The streets became narrower, the doorways smaller, and there was a great deal of trash and detritus littering the streets. People looked out from alleyways and windows, either in fear or looking for their next potential victim. Poverty was obviously rampant, with nearly every surface looking to be in desperate need of a coat of paint. Large parts of the city tended to smell because of sub par sewage, and since my nose was rather sensitive this was doubly unpleasant for me.

The whole city was one giant cesspool of poverty, filth and violence. I'd hated it until I'd come to accept it. Then I just hated it slightly less. Trying to scratch out a living there was not any more pleasant than you might imagine.

The sun had nearly set when I arrived at my destination.

It was a large three story wooden building, that facade reminding me of one of those saloons from old Western American films. Unlike most of the buildings that surrounded it this one had actually been maintained pretty decently, with a fresh coat of paint and signs of repair work here and there. It was easily the nicest building in a mile radius of where I stood. It was also the base of operations of one of the most powerful crime bosses in the city, which really should tell you all you need to know about what things were like in Kuchinashi.

By the front doors (actual closed doors, not swinging ones like a real saloon) stood a tall man with long flowing hair, sunglasses, a tight designer looking shirt and a pistol strapped to his side. His name was... Gerome? Gerald? I'd met him once before. The bouncer smiled at me when he saw me approach, his voice and demeanor instantly becoming flirtatious. "Hey there kitty cat. You're almost late. Boss is waiting for you."

I schooled my features into a cool mask, not giving away how much his comment had irritated me. _He's not even worth it_ , I thought to myself, well aware that attacking one of Fix's men unprovoked was a terrible idea. With my eyes forward I opened the door, but couldn't quite control my muttered correction to him right before I walked inside.

"Not a cat."

If he heard me he didn't answer and then I was inside the Pink Beefcake (yes, that was actually the name of the place), letting my eyes adjust to the half-bar, half-nightclub arrangement on the bottom floor. It was still early enough that there were only a few regulars at the bar and the music was still low enough at this hour that having a conversation without shouting was actually doable. Knowing the way I took the stairs to the more exclusive second floor, and from there nodded to a few thugs standing around keeping an eye on things before letting myself into the exclusive VIP area in the back.

There were a dozen tables scattered about, everything done up with so much elegance it nearly approached respectability. The room was dark with neon lights, but that hardly bothered me as I could see everything perfectly. Only two tables were occupied. With careful and measured steps I made my way to the furthest one in the back, the one where the owner of this establishment held court.

He was reviewing something on a scroll when I approached, but as soon as he noticed me he put it down and gave me a wide smile I could almost believe was sincere. He was a very tall man of indeterminate age - he could have been twenty five or forty five for all I knew - with short blonde hair and artificially tanned skin, dressed in white and pink, very thin, and as flamboyant in his dress and mannerisms as you could possibly be without slipping into the strictly impractical. Next to him was his bodyguard and ever present shadow (and some said lover) Herod Plavidiv, an absolute mountain of a man with navy blue hair who always carried with a combination flamer and battleaxe. A nasty weapon, even if it seemed impractical to use inside a wooden structure.

"Davi, doll. You were almost late. I was starting to think you might stand me up."

"Rosario," I said to him, keeping my voice emotionless and professional.

"Tsk-tsk," he tutted at me. "What have I told you before, darling? It hurts my feelings when you don't use my first name. Now, why don't we try that again?"

It was a struggle to keep the irritated frown off my face. Instead I kept my voice flat and businesslike, only my eyes hinting at my displeasure. "Fix. Pleasure to see you. I'm here for our meeting."

Fix sighed dramatically at that, looking completely at odds with the type of man you would expect to be a crime boss who regularly ordered the deaths of more troublesome people. I knew first hand of at least two people that Fix Rosario had ordered "disappeared."

"You really need to work on your charm, baby girl," Fix began. "It will get you much farther than glares and a stone cold attitude, though I'll admit some people are into that sort of thing. Now why don't you sit down and tell me how your end of our little project is going, hmmm?"

Not really having much choice I sat down. Fix continued to smile at me brightly, his smile so gleaming white and perfect it couldn't possibly be natural, before he said, "Let me order you a drink while you tell me what you've been up to."

Knowing it was futile to refuse even if I didn't want a drink I didn't complain. Instead I paused to organize my thoughts. Even though I'd been learning to speak what on Remnant they called the Common Tongue for ten years now the language still wasn't a hundred percent natural for me. It was a strange language, filled with grammar rules and tonalities I'd never had any experience with before ending up in this world. Though I was fluent in the language now I couldn't say that I felt _native_ with it, and I didn't know if I ever would. Sometimes, when speaking, I almost felt like I had a lisp. No matter how hard I tried I just didn't sound like a native. People often told me I had the strangest accent, like nothing they had ever heard before. It made sense. There was nothing even remotely like German or English here, after all.

I had the unpleasant sneaking suspicion that for some reason Fix really liked my accent, too.

"Nikos has practically ceased her fitness training in this final stretch before the MRT," I began slowly, carefully choosing my words. "Borrowing the notes from her coach - before returning them - have led me to discover various strategies he will have Nikos use against some of the top contenders expected to be her toughest competition. It seems that they are continuing to take this seriously, and I see little of any type of arrogance or overconfidence that might be exploitable. Her training has shifted to refining and mastering new techniques and patterns she has never shown before. I have them all memorized, naturally." My eyes narrowed on him. "However, this knowledge will all be useless without a suitable candidate to utilize it to it's fullest extent."

Fix didn't answer me right away. Instead he took the time to wave over a waitress in a sinfully short micro skirt and whisper in her ear. After sending her away with a smile he turned back to me, leaning into his seat a little and regarding me with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression.

"Davi. Do you know why I didn't throw you out on your ass when you barged in here all those months ago and practically demanded to speak to me?"

I frowned slightly at the direction he was taking this. Why couldn't he just answer my implicit question? "I figured that it was because of my reputation."

Fix shook his head. "Not at all. You're not so well known that I instantly knew who you were on sight. Well, at least you weren't back then."

I paused, genuinely surprised. "That does not seem like you, Fix. I remember being surprised with how easily you agreed to see me."

"I have a good eye for people," Fix said, a smile once again appearing on his face that didn't exactly put me at ease. "Here you were, this Faunus kid from the orphanage I partially sponsor – I could tell because of the shoes you were wearing, awful things darling – barging into my place of business, blustering your way past the bouncer at the door and talking with my guards with an attitude that said you'd be willing to come to blows if it meant getting what you wanted. And it wasn't the usual cocky bravado of youth either, no. It was with this cold certainty that you rarely see in your kind. I was curious enough to listen."

Fix paused as the waitress returned and put drinks in front of all three of us. I didn't even look at mine and kept my eyes on the man in front of me. Fix for his part took a sip from something fruity and alcoholic before turning back to me.

"I'm glad I did take a chance on you. Turns out you were full of surprises. An unlocked Aura and some actual training, to start with. Willing to get your hands dirty without all the bragging and big drama that most people tend to indulge in. And then there was your little proposal. Ambitious. Smart. Not afraid to take risks. I like that. Reminds me of me when I was your age."

I said nothing, keeping my face neutral as I waited for the hook in all the nice bait. Fix was all smiles and charm but he always had an angle. Letting him put me at ease would be a mistake.

He entwined his fingers, leaning forward on the table with a smile still on his face. "How _did_ you learn the secret behind Pyrrha Nikos's Semblance, anyway?"

Clearly, I was not going to tell him _because I saw it on my computer in another life in an animated series_. I leaned back on my chair, giving him my best blank look. I was certain I would never tell anyone of my previous life as Kira, a young teenager living in Europe. If I did tell anyone however, it sure as hell wouldn't be _Fix_.

"Same way I find out all the things I'm not supposed to, same way I can sneak into pretty much anywhere," I said. "There is no mystery to be had Fix. I am simply... quite good at what I do."

"Oh?" he said skeptically. "And I suppose that your first thought after stumbling across this valuable information was to think, 'I should go to dear uncle Fix and propose a plan that will make him lots and lots of money'?"

No, actually. This plan had been a long time in the making. I didn't have any advantages in this world, and being a penniless orphan in Kuchinashi my prospects were bleak. My only "advantage", if you could call it that, were the memories of four seasons of a show called _RWBY_ I'd once... loved... in a previous life. I'd thought long and hard about how I could somehow possibly leverage that knowledge to make enough money so I could _get out_ of Kuchinashi. Possibly enter a Huntsman academy in another kingdom if I was extremely lucky. Still, I'd just settle for getting out of the kingdom of Mistral all together.

After learning and watching and thinking long and hard, an idea had come to me. The Mistral Regional Tournament, as you might imagine, drew a great deal of attention not only in Mistral but from all across Remnant. Lots of spectators in a competition meant lots and lots of gambling. That meant a _lot_ of possible money to be had. And then I heard bookies were giving one to ten odds that Pyrrha Nikos would win the tournament a fourth time – which meant that if Pyrrha lost whoever bet against her stood to make as much as ten times their investment.

However, my scheme to make enough money wasn't something I could pull off on my own. There was no way I could enter the tournament and expect to beat Pyrrha Nikos, and I wouldn't have had enough of my own capital to bet on myself to give me enough money to achieve what I wanted anyway. Hence "partnering" with someone like Fix had become a necessary evil. If we pulled this off, he would become absolutely filthy rich, and my cut would be small on the grand scheme of things but enough for me to get out of Kuchinashi and give me a chance to start a fresh life somewhere else.

Of course, beating Pyrrha partially hinged on finding someone who could use the information I'd been so painstakingly gathering to actually defeat her... and so far Fix had failed to produce a candidate. With the MRT only a few months away it was starting to make me _very_ twitchy.

It went without saying that I couldn't just share my thought process with Fix. Not all of it anyway. I picked up my drink and kept my expression blank as I answered him. "No. My first thought was how I could use that knowledge to my advantage. Everything else is, frankly, of secondary importance."

Fix stared at me, perhaps trying to unnerve me, but staring at people to make them uncomfortable was a skill I had long mastered. We held gazes for a few seconds of tense silence. Then, unexpectedly, Fix began to chuckle.

"This is why I like you, Davi. Your soul is just like your favorite drink. Bitter and cold as ice. A girl after my own heart."

My brow furrowed slightly at that, not sure how I felt about Fix's "compliment". I took a sip of my drink to let me think. Iced coffee, black. My new favorite drink as I'd discovered in this new world. For some reason my taste buds just went crazy for coffee, especially when it was cold. Odd because I'd hated the stuff in my last life. Deciding to ignore Fix's comment about my character I changed the subject.

"We still need someone to actually beat the girl, Fix. The tournament draws near. Please tell me you have found someone to actually take her down."

Fix seemed amused by my change of subject but seemed content to let it go. Then a smug smirk appeared on his face. "I'll let you know it wasn't easy, but I managed to acquire the services of the _perfect_ hitter for our little scheme."

"Oh?" I said dryly, raising an eyebrow, but on the inside some of the tension I didn't realize I'd been holding seemed to release. "That's a relief. I was beginning to wonder. Well then, when can I meet this mystery person? Obviously I'll need to start preparing them with everything I've learned about the competition. The sooner the better."

"You can meet them after they get settled in. They came a long ways after all," Fix said, a smile still on his face. "As to who they are, why don't you take a look over there?" he said, gesturing at the only other occupied table in the darkened room.

I turned my body to look. Sitting in a corner several tables away were two people. One of them was a middle aged man with white hair and a large square jaw, his face covered in small scars like someone had taken a small knife to his face long ago. He was impeccably dressed in a suit of a quality rarely seen in Kuchinashi, his eyes wary and suspicious, never staying in one place for too long. Clearly not our contender, but a fighter non the less.

Sitting beside him was a teenage boy, apparently around my age. Even sitting down I could tell that he was tall, his hair blonde and his eyes blue. For a second I had the insane thought that this might be _Jaune Arc_ of all people when I began to notice some differences from the character I remembered. This person had a slimmer build that Jaune, though that didn't mean he looked weak at all. This person had more of a Bruce Lee build rather than that of a broad shouldered knight. The young man's features were decidedly aristocratic and, objectively speaking, very easy on the eyes. His clothes were an odd mix of Asian looking and military, done in primarily blues and whites. What looked like an extra long katana rested against the table within easy reach. When the teen noticed me staring, he sent me a glare that could have peeled pain off the walls before ignoring me and going back to his meal... and eating it with impeccable manners, I might add.

"That," began Fix. "Is Gletscher Fjordman. The young cutie, not his faithful old butler. A native of Atlas and trust me, he is _exactly_ what we need."

Well. I couldn't tell if Fix was right by just looking at this Gletscher, naturally. Though while the pair practically screamed "Atlas" and "money" they both had an air about them that did not make me doubt their competence in confrontation. Also, there was something... familiar about that name.

"I believe your people are quite familiar with the legacy of his grandfather, no?" asked Fix in a tone that was far too innocent.

I turned to look at Fix and frowned at him as I tried to figure out what he was talking about. It took me a few moments to make the connection since it was something I'd only heard mentioned once or twice. When I did my expression turned to a deep frown.

"Klinge Fjordman... he was one of the generals during the Faunus War, wasn't he?" I said more than asked, my voice turning chillier as my frown deepened. "They called him 'Butcher Fjordman'. They still call him that, actually. He was famous for taking to the field personally and tearing Faunus to pieces with his ice Semblance. It is also said he ordered the extermination of more than one Faunus village, down to the last man, woman and child."

Fix acknowledged my words with a nod. "All very true. Old grandpa Klinge is long dead however, and the family has somewhat fallen from grace in Atlas, hence how I was even able to convince the scion of the _distinguished_ Fjordman family to take part in our little financial endeavor. I trust there isn't going to be any issue working with him?" Though his question was said pleasantly enough, there was an undercurrent of threat to it under the surface.

Well. It was true that this Gletscher wasn't his grandfather... though my new Faunus identity struggled with the idea of making _nice_ with the spawn of Klinge Fjordman. Still, practicality easily won out over any learned distaste. I looked Fix in the eye and gave him a very deliberate nod. "No issues. I'll be polite."

Then anther issue occurred to me. A potentially very serious issue.

"Though... you might want to keep him hidden," I began carefully in a low tone of voice. "The local Fang will completely lose their minds if they find out the grandson of Klinge Fjordman is suddenly within their reach. Other than Schnee there is no other name they hate more or that they see as more of a symbol of all the abuses that humans have heaped upon the Faunus people. If they learn of him the Fang might even think of attacking this place to take him from you, if it came to that."

The smile Fix gave me at that was cold, and filled with a viciousness he seldom allowed people to see. "I'd like to see them try." Even his constant shadow Herod cracked a little grin at that.

"The possibility of the Fang catching wind of dear Gletscher and acting on that information I'd like to be prepared for, however," Fix said, suddenly turning serious. "Because of that, I'd like you to make nice with the Fang, dear Davi. Just so that you can keep an eye on things."

Suddenly he had _all_ my attention, my eyes flashing with some of the anger that always lived inside. "You can forget it. I am not going to join the _fucking_ White Fang, especially not to just turn around and stab them in the back. Having a group of crazy fanatics out to kill me is not something I am willing to do. Not for the plan, and not for you."

"Now, now Davi, don't be like that," he said, spreading his hands out in an innocent gesture. "I'm not asking you to put on a white shirt and mask. Just ask around. Sound like you're interested in their propaganda. Make a couple of friends. It's surprisingly hard to get an informant into that group that is reliable. That's not so bad, now is it?"

I shook my head. "You're not a Faunus, Fix. You don't know the Fang like I do. They'll take interest as practically a declaration of my support, and because I can fight and use Aura they will try all they can to shanghai me into their ranks. When I turn them down they are going to hold a grudge. A grudge from the Fang can be anything from irritating to outright deadly and the group has a long, _long_ memory. And that's _before_ taking into account what happens if they discover that I was just cozying up to them to protect a frikking Fjordman. That is not a can of worms I'm willing to open. It should not be necessary anyway, as long as you keep Gletscher out of sight."

"My dear, I believe you misunderstand," Fix said with a shake of his head. "I'm not asking you to keep an eye on the Fang for me. I'm _ordering_ you to do so."

My whole body tensed at that, my eyes narrowing on him. I put down my cold coffee and didn't bother to hide the irritation in my voice. "I'm working with you, Fix. I do not work for you. I am not one of your lackeys. You can't _order_ me to do anything."

"True, you don't technically work for me," Fix said easily, with a confident smile that was quickly unnerving me. "But you're still going to do what I ask."

"And why is that?" I asked, apprehension filling me.

"Because how big a cut you get from our little cooperation... well, let's be honest darling, the truth is that the one controlling all the money is me," Fix said smugly. "If you don't play ball and do everything you can so that our endeavor will succeed, maybe I'll decide your cut is too big after all. Or I might decide to cut you out altogether, if you piss me off enough. Not that I would want to that mind you, bad for business going back on your word you understand. But I believe you understand the thrust of what I'm saying, yes?"

I glared at him viciously but said nothing. _Fuck!_ I mean, had I expected? This was a professional criminal, scum, pure and simple. Of course I knew he could cut me out once everything was said and done but in his business reputation was everything. Fix had a reputation to keeping to his deals and keeping his word. Apparently however I'd trusted his "reputation" a bit too much if he was willing to bend me over the barrel like this. Fury rose in my chest at the thought of getting screwed out of the cut I _needed_ to get out of this shit hole after all the hard work and sacrifice I had put into it. Before I realized it I was on my feet, not having noticed that I'd even done so. Fix continued to smile at me while Herod began eyeing me dangerously. For some reason Fix's unflappable attitude just pissed me off even more and made the rage inside me rise even higher. Before I even knew what I was doing, the words were spilling out of my mouth like so much acid.

"If you screw me out of my cut, I will find you in your room in the middle of the night and I will _fucking kill you_."

Herod's hand gripped the handle of his axe and he pulled the weapon half way out it's sheath. When he spoke his voice was deep and menacing. "You're going to want to calm down and sit down before you hurt yourself, kitty cat."

" _Not a cat!_ " I snapped at him reflexively.

"Ladies, gentlemen, there is no need to get so very excited," said Fix in a placating tone, infuriatingly calm as I wanted nothing more than to extend my claws and tear something to pieces. He turned his eyes to me and for once became serious. "I'm not going to screw you out of a deal we made. That's not the sort of man I am. But I will need you to do your part to ensure the plan goes smoothly. Do as you're told, and I'll throw in as nice juicy bonus when we all get our payday. Something nice, I promise, along with an extra ten percent of what we agreed upon in lien. Refuse, however, and you might find our relationship going from pleasant to unpleasant. And nobody wants that."

He paused, and took the time to take another sip of his fruity drink while I stood there, shaking with rage. Fix put down his drink and looked at me straight in the eye. "Well, Davi, doll. What's it going to be?"

Fuck him. _Fuck him_ and his smug, prick face. Did he think wrapping it up in pretty words made it any better? He was still holding my cut hostage to force me to do something I didn't want to do. Something that I had been avoiding for _years_ and was essentially guaranteed to somehow blow up in my face. The Fang were radicals, and I'd told myself I'd never have anything to do with them and their violent ideology.

But what choice did I have? None, unless I was willing to risk all the work I had been doing for the last six months. Risk that it would amount to nothing. As much as I hated it, Fix was the one with all the power here, and both of us knew it. It was either potentially put a target on my back or make an enemy of the man who held the purse strings. Assuming the plan worked. But it had to work. After all work, pain and sacrifice I'd sunk into the plan it _had_ to work.

My rage didn't dissipate, not at all, but after a few seconds I managed to bottle it up inside to the point where, at least on the outside, I was once again the cool and untouchable person I had become. It was all still bubbling underneath the surface but like this at least... at least it didn't show on the outside.

"Fine," I said to him in an empty, emotionless monotone. "Expect to hear from me in a few days. Send me a message when you want me to begin bringing Klinge Junior up to speed."

Fix gave me a wide smile and nodded graciously at me. "That's fine baby doll. I think that's all I need from you right now. See you then, yes?"

Without another word I turned on my heel and stalked out of the VIP room, Fix's amused chuckles following me and setting every one of my nerves on edge. It was an effort not to slam the door to the VIP lounge shut behind me. _Don't let them think they can actually get to you._

My mind was a mess of anger and fear as I made my way down the stair of the club. I'd never had an organization come after me before. In my mind protecting a Fjordman from the Fang, however indirectly, was only going to end one way. If I was really going to do this then I needed to plan my approach, plan my contingencies and above all, be prepared. The Fang were not people you casually fucked around with.

As I stalked out the front doors of the club, deep in my own thoughts, the bouncer standing right outside wolf whistled and called out to me.

"Nice ass, kitty cat. Hope to see you back around soon, yeah?"

I _snapped_.

Silent, I whirled and crossed the distance between us in a blink until our chests were almost touching. At the same time I flexed my Aura and the muscles of my arm, popping out my three inch claws. I reached roughly in between his legs and _squeezed_ , until my claws tore through his jeans and caught his balls by the very sharp tips. The long haired bouncer froze, his eyes nearly popping out of his sockets as he looked down at me with an expression of utter shock and fear.

I stood up on my tippy toes and hissed a word in his ear.

" _Civet."_

His shock and fear were joined in by confusion and anger. I squeezed my hand, the tips if my claws digging into his sensitive package until the anger disappeared and only the other three emotions were left. I had to resist the urge to smile in satisfaction at that.

"Wha... Wha... What does that-"

"I'm not a cat Faunus," I said coldly, cutting him off. "Or a tiger Faunus, a lion Faunus, or any other kind of feline. Cats aren't the only animals with retractable claws. I am a civet Faunus. _Civet_. Do you understand your mistake now?"

A smarter man might have just said yes or nodded his head. However this long haired Fabio wannabe clearly was from the shallow end of the gene pool.

"Wha- wha- what the h-hell is a civet?"

My hard won composure cracked at that point.

"Open a _**fucking book sometime, you mouth breathing moron!**_ "

I couldn't kill him or maim him, Fix would have my head. But I couldn't let this insult go unanswered. With a hiss of rage I popped both sets of claws on my hands and began to slash at the bodyguard. In seconds I'd completely torn his clothes to shreds, leaving him wearing nothing but a few scraps of what used to be expensive designer clothing. Then, as a grand finale, a flicked my claws towards his eyes, causing him to instinctively bring his hands up. With his lower body undefended I viciously exploited the opportunity and kicked him hard right in between his legs. The bouncer instantly crumpled into a whimpering heap on the floor.

"In the future, don't waste my fucking time, asshole," I said to him before turning and stalking away, ignoring a group of bystanders gawking at my handiwork.

 _Calm. I am cool. I am calm. I am collected._

There was no more time to be angry. I had a meeting with the White Fang to plan.


End file.
